A Long Road Ahead
by Peace215
Summary: Last scenes of Season 7 Premiere. Tony and Ziva begin to try to put their relationship back on the right track after the events of their last meeting in Tel Aviv and the rescue mission in Africa. Slight Tiva.


An: This would be my very first story of NCIS and what better way than by writing a few scenes after the end of "Truth or Consequences"? Very nice hints of some Tiva but not overboard - the healing process begins but they have a very long road ahead of them before Ziva and Tony are back to how they used to be. This would be the baby steps to that process. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

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The contact of another kind, gentle human being felt so foreign to Ziva David that she barely remembered to hug the thin forensic scientist back. She couldn't remember a hug from Abby that wasn't anything but firm. Her arms were warm and nice that Ziva couldn't contain the inside tug of emotions that threatened to overtake her small body. Instead, she shut down her whole mind.

It was better to be numb, to let the whole episode drift away while watching it from inside a glass bubble. She could barely make out words spoken to her from Abby's mouth, or hear the clapping of their coworkers at the brave attempt of rescuing her – rescue sounded so strange to her mind – or the curious questions from Ducky about her well being. She pulled back and looked ahead to Tony who hadn't stopped watching her since the plane landed.

She was still angry; angry at him, at herself, at what this mission really meant for them. She was angry at herself because she felt something for him, even with Michael's death so fresh in her mind. Shameful because she still did care for the man who was nothing more than a manipulation technique from her father to test her loyalties; to see where her heart lie. Her heart still thudded painfully in her chest, a knowing that she was alive and he wasn't; Feeling as if her penance had yet been completed. Her mind and body were a whirlwind of emotions and the fact that Tony looked at her with such intensity almost propped her to lash out, to strike something or someone, in order to get away from the stare. Because he could see all this, he always could read her, and she didn't want him to. She wanted to hide from it.

But while she wanted to, her body was drained, malnourished and dehydrated and her spirit was broken and all she could force herself to do was move to her old desk and chair and sit, rather heavily down. Gibbs took residence in his own desk, rubbing his chin in thought as he watched her carefully and McGee and Abby stood behind her nervously. Ducky had retreated to Gibbs' side in order to give her further space, knowing her look as a need for solitude. She felt their looks and their concern radiate over the distant space. She was grateful for it but also miserable; she didn't deserve their respect or love. It aggravated her further and made her hunch her shoulders as if to ward it all away.

Ziva looked down at her hands, her fingers black in grim and dirt, her nails chipped away with dried blood under the nail bed. Her hair was heavily matted with dried blood and sweat and the scent of sand still lingered on her skin. Her body throbbed with bruises and broken then healed and broken once more fractures. She wanted to purge it all away. Instead she slowly folded her hands timidly but with a determined air on to her lap quietly.

Her body and mind were broken, but she would not let anyone know it. She was still Ziva David, she was still strong. If she could keep up the façade, than it was real to her which was good enough for the time being. Until she was ready to process everything, she would believe as if everything was alright; though in her heart she knew her body was not alright, her stable mind was gone and she had been broken. In the most torturous of ways possible.

And Ziva David did not know which way was up or down, but she would be damned if she'd let anyone know that. She was still Ziva David; she would not show any weakness.

She awoke with a start. She pulled away from her desk, her hands shaking like a rattle as she clung to the ledges. Her mind had gone there again, had felt the punches, the cigarettes melt her flesh, felt the prick of the needle and the guilt at talking. She hadn't said anything useful – nothing more than what Tony had said when he had been interrogated moments before Salim's death. But she felt the raw shame at talking, at breaking her code to talk for peace from the beatings.

It might have been her pride, but she could not shake the feelings. Slowly she pulled herself up, realizing then that she was still on the base, still in the same clothing and still smelling of that place. The mold, the grim, and the sweat – it was enough to make Ziva cringe in remembrance. She began to turn to head toward the showers, momentarily forgetting her clothing from her locker must have been discarded when her toe hit something soft. Looking down she sighed softly.

Abby was soundly snoring, the hippo under her head as a makeshift pillow. Her hair fell in dark strands of black covering her eyes as her hands held on to Ziva's desk. There were black smears on her cheeks from falling asleep without taking off her Goth makeup. Even in sleep she wouldn't let Ziva go without a fight and it made Ziva's heart warm at the thought.

Carefully she side stepped her body and saw next to her, Tim lay on his stomach with his suit jacket pulled in between them as a blanket. Drool leaked out from his mouth, his hand becoming covered in it but his other hand held the wall of her cubicle, guarding it as best he could. She felt the side of her lips tug into a smirk, as close to a smile as she would get for now as she pulled away from them, walking to the windows. She knew the actions showed their love and protectiveness but she didn't dwell on it long. She wanted to remain numb. She needed peace from her emotions whether if they were positive or not.

She remembered a time before, as she looked out at the rain from the high windows with her brother's voice on the other line of her cell. His warm voice reminding her that he'd be safe and they would meet soon. He would've never thought it'd be at the time she took his life.

The thought was pushed away violently – she would not remember. Her fragile self could not handle it. She would fall to the ground crying, knowing that more guilt along with the death of Michael would not help her now. She had barely contained her guilt when she had killed Ari and it was a constant struggle not to remember it was her fault he was buried in Israel, but on top of what had happened to Michael – it would surely kill her.

Struggling with her feet she walked to the elevator, pushing the button to go to the showers, clean clothes be damned. She needed to remove the dirt off of her, to wash the memories away. To have some sort of peace from her emotions. She began to step forward, when her eyes landed on Tony.

She looked at him, her mouth pursed together into a small frown. He didn't look like he had slept at all. His hair was disheveled – she noticed how long it had become - and the bags under his eyes matched his spilt lip. He held a few blankets in his palms and his book bag over his shoulder. He was still in the clothes from that afternoon.

She looked into his eyes as he nodded toward their office.

"Saw you were asleep. Thought you could use a blanket. We both know Abby and McSnores-a-lot do otherwise Probie's jacket'll be torn down the center."

Tony sighed as Ziva nodded only once, accepting the blanket into her hands. She pushed the button to take her to the gym floor. Tony stayed rooted to her side, giving only inches between them. He could see the strain on her body and knew her legs weren't as stable as she liked them to be. He wanted to watch her to make sure she'd stand long enough to go wherever she was heading.

They rode in silence for a few moments before the elevator dinged and Ziva stepped out. She didn't look at him as she walked out. Tony followed without a thought and she stopped abruptly, turning toward him.

"I do not need an escort. I will be fine on my own." Her dark eyes were crisp with determination and Tony felt like rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry. Just didn't think.. you'd want to be .._alone_." He shrugged and pulled his bag to the floor. "Forget it. I grabbed some clothes from the gym area. Figured you could use some fresh ones – even if they're only sweats." He handed them to her and she grabbed them before turning on her heel.

He sighed as she began to round the corner. He couldn't take the awkwardness anymore. "You can talk to me y'know!" He shouted and it caused Ziva to miss a step in her marching.

When she turned back around, her eyebrow was raised in question but her eyes were fiery. Tony stepped back out of necessity and held his palms up. "I know you're still angry at me-"

"Anger does not begin to describe how I feel _Tony_." Each word was pronounced with a hint of barely contained anger. Tony knew the sound well; coming from his own mouth the day Rivkin had died in the hospital, when his father was angry at something stupid he had done at school. Oh he knew the emotion well.

"Rage then. I don't care what you call it, you're pissed. I got that. I killed your boyfriend." Her eye twitched as she stepped closer. Her hands were no longer shaking from fear but from rage, anger, and hurt. Tony saw the movement, but he kept pressing. Ziva wouldn't willingly talk to him. Not until she worked everything out for herself and he didn't know how long it would take. He had to push her to open up. He had to break through that wall she had built up over her body and heart – it might have kept her safe in Africa, but it wouldn't do anything for her in D.C.

"I killed Michael." Again she stood closer and Tony met her half way. Their chests would touch if they breathed too deeply. "You hit me in Tel Aviv because you were angry. At me, at Michael, and at _yourself_. Maybe you still are, but you know now I did it for you." She narrowed her eyes, her lip quivering in rage. "I risked my life, my _career_, all for you Ziva. Everything. So take a swing if it'll make you feel better and maybe you'll _finally_ believe me."

This time when her punch came he caught it, and held her palm. She kicked him as the clothes and blankets fell to the ground in a heap. She flipped him on to his back as she straddled him. Much like their last meeting, their last fight, she held him down as her body quaked in anguish but instead of the shouting match, the denial, he could see she understood. He could see she knew what Michael was, what he had done to her.

But at the same time, her pride kept her from fully letting go. The same pride that had thought her torture was justified. The same pride that would be the death of her.

"I did not ask to be rescued! I did not think you would come-"

"Why because of some sort of self hatred?" His lips turned up into a nasty smirk. "You need to get over yourself."

"I **have**." Their earlier words echoed their first conversation in three months. Neither of them thought on the irony of the repeat.

"You haven't." There was stony silence between them as Ziva pressed her hand into his chest, holding him as tightly as her limbs would let her. Tony held her stare as he let his hands keep at his side. He knew her mind was fuming, trying to make sense and fight him, but the logical side of her was trying to process the facts, the evidence.

He was afraid putting up a fight wouldn't help his situation either. "You don't need to blame yourself for all of this anymore Ziva. He's gone. It wasn't your fault."

"But it was!" She shouted, pushing her face to his, slamming his back into the cold flooring. He could see the anger and the blame on her shoulders. She had said to him in the prison she thought it was justified what had happened to her; but he'd be damned if he wouldn't get it through her thick skull. "I should have stopped it. I should been there. He should have been recalled – I should have seen-!"

"It wasn't your fault Ziva."

"But it was." Her anger had lessened but the fire in her eyes was still there. The anger at herself still burned under her skin. She hated herself for what she thought she should have stopped. She thought she should have seen what he was up to, should have known what her father had been trying to do to her since her last return to D.C. a year ago. She placed too much on herself that failure was unacceptable.

Except, she hadn't failed at all. She had only been a woman – maybe one in love. Tony shrugged to himself keeping the option away long enough to breathed out a few calming words to her.

Again he repeated, "It wasn't your fault."

His voice was low, hoarse from her strain on his body and he felt her shift slightly. He prepared himself for a punch, a jab to his ribs, some kind of lashing from Ziva but instead he felt her body shaking as her fist twisted in his shirt. He opened one eye very slowly and was not expecting what he saw in front of him.

Ziva David, the super ninja, super soldier was _crying_. Her face was flushed, the streaks of tears marring the soot on her visages as she bit her low lips to keep from making a sound. Tony stayed perfectly still; he knew he wasn't supposed to see the lapse in her control, knew she didn't want to share something as important with him as that was. He was afraid moving would remind her of this and he didn't want to have her to shut down again. He had finally broken her, broken down her formidable wall.

But Tony DiNozzo did not know how to fix either. So he lay like a statue as his partner and friend cried softly, her hair falling in oily clumps around her.

"Ziva?" He whispered. She pounded one fist on to his chest but stayed rooted. The pain barely registered with him as he shifted upward, sitting with the woman in his lap. He hated crying women, felt powerless to stop tears if he saw them. It was why he almost always made jokes when breaking up with no named and faceless women, made jokes when he had to tell marine wives their husbands were murdered, made jokes when he thought Ziva was dead – that one was more for him not to pound Salim to bits but he would never admit it out right.

Right then, sitting with Ziva cradled in his lap, crying into his shoulder, he could do nothing more than let her.

Time passed by with them sitting on the cold floor before Ziva was finally able to halt the tears and turn the quiet sobs into loud sniffling. Tony stayed rooted, his face serious as she pulled back, wiping her nose on her hand absentmindedly. "I did not mean for that to happen."

He shrugged. "Hey like you're the first woman to cry on my shoulder."

She looked into his eyes before he rolled them. There was an unspoken secret passed between them as he realized she knew that she truly was the first. "It is not often I cry – or even like that." She gestured to his damp shoulder. Tony jumped to his feet as Ziva stood up and hugged her arms around her stomach, keeping what little warmth that she could for herself.

"Tony I understand what you said, but..." She looked up and felt her eyes water. "What does this mean now? Michael is dead, you and I have yet to reconcile. He is dead while I am **not**."

"And that in itself is a miracle Ziva."

Her confusion was evident. "I do not understand how it was a miracle Tony. They did not kill me when they should have. If it had been Mossad-"

"Then we wouldn't be having this conversation." A hauntingly familiar conversation overplayed in his mind, one that he wished he could've taken back. The pain that he had put on Ziva that day nearly broke his heart thinking of it. "I know you don't forgive me for killing him." He lowered his eyes out of respect and knew Ziva saw this when she nodded to herself. "But the situation called for it. Had you been in my place you would've done the exact same thing." Again there was silence as Ziva digested it all and Tony watched, clenching his hands in an attempt from saying anything else further. It failed. "Maybe you would've cart wheeled through the air a bit more than me but still…"

They both looked away to stare at some indiscernible spot on the far wall, Tony's joke falling on deaf ears. He visibly deflated. They hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of what they had to talk about, and they both knew this. They just didn't know to leave things tonight.

"And this mission, what does it mean for you and I, Tony?" Ziva asked, her eyes still off in space. Under the emergency night lights, Tony hitched a breath seeing a lot of the bruising creep over her cheekbones and her neck in the form of hand prints.

Their eyes met and Tony tried to smile, but he knew it reached nowhere near his eyes. "Oh well, healing I guess. We try to get back to where we were…before all this." He waved his hand absentmindedly. Ziva shrugged as she picked up her things dropped during the brawl. She knew Tony would have a bruise on his back from where he landed.

"It will take time, Tony." She struggled with her next sentencing phrasing it correctly. "Time will not heal all wounds, mind you. I will need to think on everything and depending on what happens with Mossad…" She trailed off and shrugged. The fire was in her eyes again, but it wasn't rage that put it here. It was life, the old Ziva returning to them, if only for a small amount of time.

They both knew time wouldn't heal everything. There would be more talks, a lot more fighting and maybe a few punches before they'd even come close to where they last were. Tony sighed and grabbed his bag. He was content knowing that they were on the road to fixing their relationship and that was enough for him.

"It is good to be back." Ziva said finally as she walked into the gym, nodding more or less to herself, as she carried all her things with her. Tony smiled to himself as he hung around by the door, crossing his arms as he leaned on the wall thinking to himself, as he heard the distant rush of water begin. It was good; great actually having her back in his life. He hadn't been joking when he said he couldn't live without the crazy super spy by his side.

Glancing up as if being watched he saw Gibbs leaning on the opposite wall, hidden in the corner by the stairwell, arms crossed over his battered blue shirt from earlier that day. It was still soaked in desert sand and sweat. They made eye contact as Gibbs smiled a not-so-there smile before shaking his head. He had watched the whole exchange.

"Good enough DiNozzo, good enough." And with his parting words, Gibbs headed for the elevator, a pillow under his arm as he retired to his desk for the remaining night. He could finally relax a bit before the rest of the week started; he didn't know what would be ahead of them after all this, but at least his two best agents were talking again. He nodded once more before fluffing his pillow to be put behind his head. He could live with that for now.

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An: I hope this was just enough to show how the healing could possibly start. I don't think they'd go right from fighting to lovers but a very long amount of time will pass before they even consider moving on pass friends - which I'm okay with in the show. But the nice hints of the Ziva/Tony possibility is always super nice to see :o)

*Now in my opinion it seems a bit fluffy but I couldn't get it out of my system. It's the "happy ending (or as close to one as I could get) syndrome".

Let me know how everyone thought of this! Happy tuning tonight for the brand spankin' new second episode!

_Peace_


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